


By the Roadside

by Morgan



Series: Grace Under Fire [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-28
Updated: 2010-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: "It started as an argument, one of those stupid, random knock-down, drag-out things that they get into when they’re on edge, running hard and strung-out." There are better ways of dealing with all that tension, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Dean’s ass is bare against the leather of the backseat and Sam’s mouth is hot on his cock. It’s one of those angry, toothy blow jobs that basically come down to getting this instead of a punch in the jaw. Dean is more than okay with that.

It started as an argument, one of those stupid, random knock-down drag-out things that they get into when they’re on edge, running hard and strung-out. It might have been Dean who said something along the lines of “I know what’s best” which he knows he shouldn’t, especially not when Sam is driving, because, Jesus, he could hear Sam’s jaw clenching from where he sat and he knows how Sam gets.

Two days of driving just to get the hell away from the unavoidable trail they had left on the last job when a rival hunter showed up out of the blue posing as a private detective just as they were interviewing a witness. Sam and Dean in suits, that guy in a leather jacket and with his huge, big fucking gun an obvious bulge in a shoulder holster and just once Dean would love to get to carry his gun out in the open like that, no matter how Freudian that might sound.

They had finished the job that night before the nice “detective” figured it out. It hadn’t helped Sam’s nerves any that the guy had kept giving them these “I know you from somewhere” lines. Bull’s eye on them both for all they know, open season, who knew which boot was going to drop first, so they salted and burned and ran for the hills. Haven’t stopped since.

Mostly they have this “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” thing that they do while on the job just so they won’t bitch at each other during, but after, when they’re running, that pretty quickly deteriorates and they fight in the car, because there’s nowhere to run and nothing better to do than take things apart, at least not if you are Sam. Which Dean isn’t, so he doesn’t want to analyze the fifty seven things he did wrong, he just wants to get the hell out of Dodge and then find some place to lay his weary, messy head for a while.

Sam, though, Sam’s thoughts are like hamsters. They keep running in that fucking wheel he keeps in his mind and then his mouth gets involved and then it’s not long before he’s got Dean awake, surly and grumpy and they go from there to righteous bitching, which... Not the best way for Sam to be using his mouth, as Dean had told him, perhaps a little unkindly.

Sam behind the wheel in that kind of mood meant angry driving, which lead to Dean bitching at him, which lead to Sam driving like he was punishing Dean by punishing his baby and that shit is just not on.

Sam isn’t usually like this, rough and handsy. He’s got one palm square in Dean’s chest, keeping him flattened and he’s dragged Dean’s jeans down just enough to get at him so now the top of Dean’s ass is sticking to the leather with sweat and it feels like he’s being pinned by that ferocious mouth. Sam is on him in the most tactile sense of the word, holding him in place and working him over a little too roughly.

They fought in the car, words ricocheting like live ammo until they pinged sharp as hell off the steel around them and Sam pulled the car onto the side of the darkened road and threw his door open, rounding the hood in record time to meet Dean as he got out. There was a moment there where Dean thought they would be throwing punches and then Sam just plastered himself along Dean’s front and kissed him, all tongue and teeth.

The thing about Sam like this is he stops giving a shit. That’s the beauty of it and it’s also the part that makes it a little dodgy. Sam is a big guy and he’s supercharged these days and there’s not a lot Dean could do about it when Sam slammed him into the side door and got a leg in between Dean’s. Mostly he was just surprised, because he was figuring for sure there would be a smack down somewhere in all this.

Sam broke the kiss and leaned his head heavily against Dean’s shoulder for a minute, breathing like a bull.

-Fucking mouth on you, all your damned trash talk, Sam says. “Gonna shut you up.”

-I was sleeping, you little bitch.

-You were faking sleep to avoid talking, Sam shoots back and his hands grip at Dean’s hips like he wants to weld them there.

-Picking shit apart isn’t…

-Oh, just shut the fuck up, Dean.

And Sam kisses him again, biting at his mouth, sliding his tongue in and then just kissing him, breathing through his nose and crushing him to the car, which, ouch, kind of hurt. Dean gave as good as he got though, starting up a slight restless slide to his hips and straining a little under Sam’s hands just to get him to hold on harder. Better than fighting anyway, though there might not be much of a difference in the give and pull.

There were times when Dean’s mouth got him into trouble, but mostly that was when he wasn’t thinking. Him and Sam know each other far too fucking well to be pushing each other’s buttons this way when they’ve been driving like this, running this hard. It’s a random, one-off kind of thing and usually Dean would have diverted Sam long before it got to the point where Sam would pull over, so what the hell? You know?

Sam kissed him for a while, all hot and hard and angry and maybe at this point that was the point.

Okay, so here’s what Sam had said so far “fucking mouth” and “gonna shut you up” so Dean figured if anything he’d be going down soon, knees biting into the gravel and Sam over him one hand heavy at the back of his head. Right? Right. Only, no, of course not, not Sam’s MO to be that simple about things, now is it?

Shutting Dean up seems to involve sucking his brain out through his dick. Which. Yeah. Okay.

Sam is slicking his tongue along Dean’s cock until it starts to feel like Dean has completely lost the plot and he’s willing to start begging and singing odes of praise to Sam’s talented wily mouth in general. He can do things, wicked intense slithering things with his tongue that are far, far better than anyone else Dean’s had. Not that he’s ever going to admit that. Though the breathless little “oh” sounds he sometimes can’t help making probably give him away anyway. Fuck.

Sam had opened the door and pushed him back, one hand on the back of his head, careful even when he was harsh so Dean wouldn’t crack his skull. Looked down on him for about a breath and then knocked his hand against Dean’s shoulder so Dean had to catch himself with a hand to the seat behind him and then Sam had followed, making him scoot even further back and shit, this was intense.

Sam was in his space, pushing and pulling and dropping one knee in the foot well and he had Dean positioned the way he wanted him in no time, big hands everywhere and his face a thunderstorm with no sign of lightening even as he turned intent and all too aware eyes on Dean’s face. Maybe not surprising, maybe just the sum total of the last two days, the thing that was happening now.

Sam muscling in between Dean’s legs and running his hands all over Dean’s chest and stomach, up and in under his clothes felt good, felt just right, even if there was a scratch and a bite to it. Dean tried sitting up a little and that’s when he got Sam’s big palm flattened to his sternum and just pressing him back until he went “fuck, Sam” and Sam gave him this tight little smile that might have meant pretty much anything but that Dean still read like “stay down”.

He kept his big left there and undid Dean’s jeans one-handed. It felt weird and so fucking hot at the same time, because when Sam means business he really does mean business and that was something so familiar it was easy to just let him do whatever the hell he wanted.

He bit at Dean’s stomach, sharp little nips and then licked along the sting apparently just to see if he could make Dean’s muscles jump. He could.

Then there was another moment, seemingly tender, when Sam let his mouth drift a little lower and Dean could see it, because he had to watch this, how could he not? Sam’s eyes flickering up to his, and it wasn’t really anger, any of it. What he read in his brother’s eyes was just “you make me so fucking crazy” and then the sheer blunt fear of risking all this, of maybe losing it because of some stupid coincidence when all they every tried to do was help people.

They could have dropped off the map if they really wanted to. Mexico, Canada, the whole fucking world if Dean could just get his ass on a plane, and still they stubbornly kept hunting, kept helping, despite the cops and the FBI and hunters and monsters and fucking vampires who knew their scent and it will all come home to roost some day and they both know it.

-Yeah, Dean said.

-Damn it, Dean. Just.

And that was about as much coherent thought as Dean was capable of when Sam used both hands to give his jeans enough of a yank that his ass hit the leather. Just. Yeah.

Sam sucked at the head of his cock until Dean made this strangled noise that he couldn’t even classify himself. It might have been a plea, a petition, something and Sam got into it so fucking fast it was better this way. Dean couldn’t really spread out like he wanted to, not enough room, and the jeans not doing him any favors, so he let Sam in and then closed his thighs a little tighter around Sam’s torso, and you know what? Sam really liked that.

Dean’s legs braced tight against Sam’s ribs really did something for Sam and that was totally unexpected and made Sam push down a little further, hot tight slide with slick sealed lips and good god. Dean wasn’t going to last more than a minute if this was what he was in for.

Dean runs one hand up Sam’s arm, from the hand splayed on his chest to Sam’s shoulder and up his neck, fingers weaving in to the hair there, but not gripping, not holding on, because Sam still has teeth at work there somehow and it’s a precarious balance anyway. Dean can’t do a thing about the tightening flex of his muscles though, or the way his hips want to come up off the seat to get at more of that prefect pressure and wet slide.

Sam likes him like this, he can tell, a little desperate already and a little too keyed up. Sam, who is always so careful, always so gentle, is rough with Dean because they are definitely doing this now, here, no matter what. And Dean can take it. Boy, can he take it. Sam slowly lowers his head about half an inch, stills and then slides his tongue around, finds all the good spots and suckles a little at Dean, creating pressure and giving wet noises that are so dirty, so perfect that Dean breathes out another long “yeah” and rubs at the back of Sam’s head with gentle cautious fingers.

He can feel the second it changes. It’s like a lulling storm, like the gale broke and then there’s no more anger from either of them, no more petty pissed off feelings. It’s just them, it’s just now and now and fuck yeah. It goes zero to sixty and it goes from Sam punishing him instead of the car to just Sam’s mouth on him and his hands on Sam and Dean’s legs pressing tight and then releasing because Jesus, this is good. It gets so good so fast Dean still marvels at it, just like he does every time.

Sam lets up a little and then Dean can feel the big breath he takes, his lungs expanding against Dean’s thighs, before he softens his mouth and slides all the way down as far as he can comfortably go and that is pretty much all the way, Christ, and oh, fuck, yeah. Dean’s pretty sure he’s saying that last part out loud. Sam answers with a little soft humming sound and that makes Dean’s brain light up like a Christmas tree before it goes all the way foggy with the good of it.

Sam sucks at him, sloppy and easy now and he’s moving against the seat and neither of them are really comfortable like this, Dean’s neck at a weird angle and Sam bent over him, pulling up to get better leverage, straightening up enough to be able to take Dean all the way down and they are rubbing against each other, clothes twisted at odd angles and bunched uncomfortably and Dean can feel Sam’s knife along with all the rest of him and there’s more of this, there’s so much fucking more he wants for Sam, better things, bigger things, big soft bed and Sam spread out beneath him like a promise, but for right now he gets a sucking slide he can feel all the way down to his curling toes and just. Oh, Christ.

Sam pulls back until he has just the head between his lips and flirts the tip of his tongue with blurring speed until Dean keens and groans and then Sam swallows him all the way down. He does it again and again until Dean is sweating, twisting his hips and he just can’t hold on he can’t hold on to any of it because this is too much, too good and it’s a tease and the best kind of opposite to a tease at the same time.

Sam crowds in even closer and presses his tongue flat to the underside of Dean’s length and swallows and hums and everything is slippery hot wet pressure and stars exploding behind his eyes and he’s got about another second before he loses out to Sam’s unrelenting mouth.

Sam works him through every last shudder, every twitch and swallows with greedy suction all the way until Dean is so sensitive he kind of wants to pull his knees up and hide. His mind is shocked clear of anything other than just the two of them and the dark interior of the car.

Sam hauls in a breath, curses and right himself, his neck bent and almost pressed into the roof, bracing himself with one hand on Dean’s thigh and he has his hand down the open front of his jeans, working himself furiously, spitting curses and Dean’s name. It takes Dean a little while to get with the program, his mind humming along happily and the live porn of Sam getting himself off like that fascinating to watch.

He can see from the crease on Sam’s brow, though, that he’s not getting there, not alone like this, his fingers digging in hard into the muscle of Dean’s thigh, so he gets himself together, coordinates his muscles, and they come back on line one by one and there’s Sam, huffing and sweaty and so damned beautiful like this it’s just ridiculous, really.

-Fuck, Sammy, come here, Dean says and sits up, grabbing at Sam’s shoulder to tug him in.

-No, just. I just, fuck, need.

-Yeah, I know, I got you, come on.

Dean runs his fingers lightly along Sam’s wrist, lets the motion make the caress and the tight frustration on Sam’s face softens a little. Sam opens his eyes, raises his head and Dean knows that feeling, that wound up feeling of being so close you can’t get there, you just can’t, you need something more, something else. He leans in and presses his lips to the corner of Sam’s mouth just to get him to turn his head so they can kiss for real. Sam does.

Dean traces Sam’s wrist with his fingertips and slips his hand inside Sam’s boxers along Sam’s hand until he’s right alongside and it’s a tight fit, but definitely doable now that Sam isn’t trying so fucking hard to get there. Better like this, kissing Sam’s slack mouth and taking in his hard breathing. Better like this when he can press and push and weave his fingers in with Sam’s around his hot, hard cock and press where Sam isn’t expecting it and make him sound like that.

Dean licks inside Sam’s mouth and coaxes his tongue until he can suck at that while he listens for that telltale moan, the soft urgent noises, the hard rumbling groan and he knows from the way Sam’s fingers are digging bruises into his thigh that Sam is almost there now, so close, so close he’s sweating and his hips are pushing against the seat.

He twists his hand a little, and Sam’s breath stutters out of him, right across Dean’s lips and if he wasn’t so thoroughly spent he’d get ready for round two just from that. Sam hitches in even closer, kisses Dean again, all soft and unfocused. When Dean grabs hold of his ass and hauls him in and Sam is murmuring into the kiss and Dean knows it’s all “fuck, yeah” and “oh, fuck, yeah” and maybe Dean’s name in there again.

Sam comes long and hard and it’s dumb luck that no cars have gone past since Sam pulled over. Sam drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder and breathes and shudders and it’s good, all this up close and personal heat and sweat. Dean gives in to the inevitable pull of Sam’s mouth and nudges at him until they can kiss some more. Slow, deep kisses now, sort of sweet, but still a little unfocused.

Dean pulls his hand out of Sam’s pants and smiles into the kiss as he wipes it on Sam’s t-shirt. Sam pulls back and looks down at that. The righteous indignation in his eyes is one hell of a funny expression to find there right now. Before Sam has even half a chance at bitching about it though, Dean gets at his mouth again and kisses him sweet and long and deep. When he pulls back Sam just looks at him. He’s got a soft smile playing at the corners of his wicked mouth.

-Let’s get back on the road before we give some trucker a show, Dean says with an answering smile of his own.

-Little late for that.

-Ah, fuck, let ‘em look. Get all jealous, Dean says and threads a hand through Sam’s hair, pressing their lips together briefly before Sam slowly gets to his feet and puts himself back together.

 

 

END


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